Well, I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probably die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
-John Mellencamp, “Small Town”
As I was driving through Lutz, on the six-lane divided highway that is now U.S. 41, past some newish storage buildings and a yet-to-be-built mega-7-Eleven, it really struck me how much Lutz has changed.
I was born and raised here and my family has quite a history in Lutz. My Great-Uncle Matt was the game warden out here. He built and lived in the little house on the corner of 41 and County Line Road where Rogers Dirt is now located.
My first gun that I learned to hunt squirrel with was a 20-gauge top-break single shot that Uncle Matt had confiscated from some duck poachers when they threw it down and ran away. Same gun my dad and his brothers learned with. I’ve still got it.
Dad used to ride his bicycle up from Seminole Heights to Uncle Matt’s. They would pull the little fishing boat over to where Dale Mabry is now and set up camp about where my office currently sits and then fish the lake to the immediate south. Dad swore that one night a big ole bass jumped in the boat while he and Uncle Matt were fishing by the light of a kerosene lantern.
I’ve seen a lot of changes, but I think the clearing of that parcel on the east side of 41 by the Walgreens at Sunset made it more real to me than it has been in the past. I was just so used to having that patch of woods and swamp sitting in the middle of “downtown” Lutz. It reminded me of how Lutz has maintained its rural character despite all of the development occurring on all sides of us.
US 41 was a two-lane, barely-paved road. Concrete poured over an old asphalt brick base. You’ve heard of some towns having a single stoplight? Well, in Lutz we didn’t even have that. We had a flashing light that hung down on US 41 in the middle of the intersection with Lutz Lake Fern Road.
We had a Shop n’ Go where the Latin market is, a volunteer fire department and, get this, a band shell at Bullard Park, where the library is now. And we had our own pharmacy, but that is a whole ‘nother story in itself.
But we had TWO gas stations: Donovan’s Phillips 66 and Steinke’s Dixie Station, run by Bill Steinke, the first Lutz fire chief. Steinke’s was much more than a gas station. It was the de
facto men’s social club. It had gas pumps, of course, but also cane poles, bait, beer and even a little bar. It is said it had a secret tunnel or hidey-hole, but I was too young to know for sure.
Lutz was dry on Sunday, as was the rest of the county, but just about every Sunday, on the way home from church, we would stop by Steinke’s and Dad would go in and come back out with a brown paper bag containing a six-pack of Schlitz. I’m told Steinke also carried the harder stuff, or “spirits,” which made him right popular around town.
As growth came, we got a Mr. Swiss and even a Whataburger for a while. My first real job, after working at the Shop n’ Go sweeping the mole crickets out of the parking lot at night, was at Eagle Army Navy in what is now the Winn Dixie Shopping Center.
For the most part, this area has very little resemblance today to the Lutz of my youth.
Yet despite all of the population growth and development, and the loss of the groves and pastures I grew up with, Lutz is still an oasis of peace in the midst of traffic, turmoil and turbulence.
Other than Gainesville for law school and a brief stint in Jacksonville as a young assistant public defender, I have lived my entire life in Lutz and I would have it no other way. Although I do miss the flashing light.
(Randall C. Grantham is a lifelong resident of Lutz who practices law from his offices on Dale Mabry Highway. . Copyright 2024 RCG)
Published June 26, 2024
